


meet me among the sunflowers

by burgerheadjones



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jughead is homeless, One Shot, bughead - Freeform, by friends i mean aquaintances, i also love bughead but what's new, i love sunflowers okay, lots of bughead, set in riverdale, slight angst, they're beautiful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 20:19:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11608212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burgerheadjones/pseuds/burgerheadjones
Summary: Sunflowers are Jughead's favourite flower. The epitome of summer. Embodiment of happiness. Harbinger of hope.But then, there's Betty Cooper.orMaybe Jughead's secret sunflower field isn't so secret after all.





	meet me among the sunflowers

**Author's Note:**

> So I love sunflowers, and I love bughead, so why not combine the two?  
> And maybe I look at Sprousehart's flower photos too much. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Sunflowers are Jughead's favourite flower. 

Immortalised in Vincent van Gogh's famous painting, sunflowers are the epitome of summer. Embodiment of happiness. Harbinger of hope.

Jughead loves watching them follow the Sun as it makes is way across the blue summer skies, casting shadows that never stay still. 

He loves watching optimistic faces gaze with wonder at their beacon of light, only growing taller and taller as the days pass by. Yet, they are elegant and poised.

Rare to find in Riverdale.

But Jughead has a lot of secrets, and this tiny field of yellow blooms that he's nestled in, is, perhaps, his most precious one.

Dusk is dawning upon him, and he lies in the centre of his sacred sunflower field, shrouded amidst the stalks. He has his camera nestled between his hands and on his stomach, while his wavy black hair migles with the grass. He can't see it, but his eyes are a brilliant cauldron of gold, blue, green and hazel, and he watches the sun retire for the night through his lashes.

His headphones are on, and he lets the musical overtones of the Beatles wash over him and spill into the sunflowers next to him.

He's content. He's happy, even if his lazy elation is due to disappear soon.

For now, this small field will be his home for the night, and the grasshoppers and bugs will give him company. For, now, he turns a blind eye to the fact that he’ll go home to absolutely naught. 

His left hand reaches out and strokes the petal of one particular flower that's near his face. It's short. Hidden. Depraved of the sun it needs. But yet, it survives.

Jughead smiles. 

He really does love sunflowers.

Everything's cast in a peaceful orange glow, and Jughead lets his eyes drift shut. He could get used to this.

Then someone trips over him.

Jughead's eyes snap open, and he bolts upright, his forehead getting slapped by yellow petals. A girl in a white summer dress is on her knees next to him, a poor sunflower victim lying trampled at her feet.

She has blonde hair, streaked with highlights no doubt renewed thanks to the summer sun. Her eyes are the colour of green- the kind of determined green that’s the first to push its way through the winter snow when spring finally arrives. Her lips are strawberry red, dulcet in the evening light.

Betty Cooper.

Jughead removes his headphones to put them around his neck, and he looks at her questioningly. His heart is still thudding in his chest.

“Jughead Jones.” Betty breathes, eyes widening with recognition. She collects herself, bringing her legs up underneath her and crouching. Jughead's eyes flick downwards to her feet. She's wearing white slippers that are now streaked with dirt.

They're both hidden amongst the flowers, and neither of them makes a move to stand up and expose themselves. The shadows are growing longer by the minute. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Jughead quirks his head. “Why, the Southside can't enjoy the rarities that Riverdale has to offer?”

Betty shakes her head. “Didn't say that. But who knew Mr. Leather Jacket had a soft spot?” She looks at his camera, slowly raising an eyebrow.

Jughead takes his headphones off his neck and puts them in his bag. “Well, Betty Cooper, what are  _ you _ doing in the outskirts of Riverdale?” Mirroring her actions, he eyes the small bag she'd brought with her.

“Perhaps you aren't the only one that seeks solace in these sunflowers, Jones. Though you're the only one that lies right in the middle of them.”

“Immersion is key.” Jughead replies, fiddling with his camera.

Betty looks up to a now pink sky, noting Jughead's backpack to the side- his sleeping bag is visible through an open zip.

“Running away?”

Jughead blinks and looks directly into Betty's eyes. “Always.”

Betty's soft smile quavers and disappears. “Southside ain't treating you well, huh?”

Jughead scoffs. “I prefer the Serpent- infested neighborhood rather than the snooty snobs that parade around like they own Riverdale.”

Betty's face immediately contorts into a frown. “Quick to judge, huh?”

Jughead barely knows the girl in front of him, and yet a pang of guilt strikes his heart; he immediately wants to apologize and take his words back. Why?

“Okay, maybe I was harsh.” Jughead compensates.

But Betty's gaze softens yet again and she shakes her head- Jughead watches as a curl flicks across the brown centre of a flower.

“You're not completely wrong. There's a reason I come here every week.”

Jughead raises an eyebrow. “Betty Cooper? Stargirl? Trouble with Archie Andrews?”

Betty throws him a hateful look. “Shut up, Jones. Don't talk about things you know nothing about.”

Jughead smirks. She's interesting to talk to.

“Is that so?” He says, crossing his legs to give her more space and resting his camera on his thigh. “Educate me, then. I'm merely Southside scum, I'd love to hear about the intense happenings of the North.”

Betty copies him, and risks getting her white dress stained by sitting down completely. “Jughead, I have all night. And so do you, I assume.”

Jughead nods, and he's suddenly enraptured by the halo that is circling Betty's hair as the sun waves a final goodbye.

“Hold that thought,” He turns his camera on, bringing it up to his eye as he takes a photo of the nearly ethereal sight in front of him. Betty's figure is a near silhouette, but her tilted face allows her beautiful eyes to shine.

Betty smiles shyly. “You do know it's weird to take pictures of people without their permission, Jones.”

“Maybe, but, the thing is, you’re-” Jughead starts, but wisely decides not to finish the way he had originally intended. “But the sun looks so beautiful,” He amends.

Betty nods, turning around and watching it disappear into the greens stalks, where it will soon meet the horizon.

“You aren't Southside scum.” Betty says, eyeing him. “You're anything but.”

Jughead looks down. “Thanks for the compliment, Betty, but I'm alright with that status.”

Betty spares him a look (pity?) before reaching forward and plucking the flower from the plant she'd previously trampled. Long and thin fingers brush golden locks behind her ear, and she delicately places the sunflower there.

Jughead is a writer, but he doesn't know if it's within his capabilities to describe how utterly pulchritudinous she looks.

“You have wonderful eyes.” Betty says, startling Jughead out of his reverie. 

“And you... Look beautiful.”

Betty laughs adorable, red climbing up her cheeks. “I wasn't aware this was a compliment battle, but thanks.”

Jughead Jones is broody. He prefers to keep to himself and immerse himself in writing. Forthcoming? Not like him at all. So why was he being so...open?

He watches as the darkness slowly descends upon them. The crickets emerge from their shelters, mingling and mating and filling the encroaching evening with chirps.

“Archie Andrews is nothing but a childhood crush to me.” Betty says. Pulling her legs up to herself and hugging them. “I don't know what you've heard, but I got over him a summer ago.”

For some, strange, alien reason, Jughead feels relieved. 

“We came to a consensus that there was nothing real between us. The idea of us together sounded so perfect, but when we finally kissed, it was so... Bland.” Betty says, playing with the hem of her dress. 

Jughead nods, staying silent while contemplating why each word of hers made him feel so.. at ease. 

Jughead Jones and Betty Cooper had always been acquaintances. They'd always been two small kids on different sides of an unmarked border, and though they crossed paths quite often, with his mom living in the North. He'd grown up knowing Betty as the girl perpetually in the limelight. She had been portrayed to him as Riverdale’s poster girl, and Jughead always thought of her as such. He often saw her hanging out at the Drive In- his previous home- with her group of friends, and the only contact they'd shared were slight nod of the heads in acknowledgement. 

Maybe part of him had always harboured a small, tiny crush.

But he knew they would never work. He was quite literally homeless- his dad was the leader of a gang, nonetheless a gang that drove his father to prison. His mom had recently cut off all contact, and meeting Jellybean was becoming a rarer occurrence. His life was on a downward spiral, and Jughead did not care to openly admit it.

He decides to change the subject.

“I want to go to New York, but man, Riverdale is breathtaking,” He whispers, watching the last wisp of purple disappear as the stars lay their claim on the night sky.

Betty hums in agreement. “You can't see the stars in New York.” She says. “What does the Big Apple hold for you?” 

Jughead wonders whether he should tell her about his hidden hobby. In the Southside, and especially near the gang, writing isn't seen as...productive work. Not many know about his means of escape. Now that he thinks about it, it's only Jellybean.

And now, Betty.

“I want to be an author.” He says, throwing all caution to the summer wind.

“Really?” 

“Mmhmm.” Jughead hums. “What about you?”

“A journalist, just like my parents.” 

“Work at the Riverdale Register?”

“No!” Betty indignant shakes her head. “My parents publish incriminating articles about people they know barely anything about. They use their biased opinion and print it out on paper, and I refuse to stand for that.”

Jughead fights back a smile. “Betty Cooper- against her own parents’ morals? Who knew?”

Instead of a snarky reply that Jughead expects, Betty bites her lip and glances at him. “It's a lot more than you think. It's... Terrible, if I'm being honest.”

Jughead puts his head in his grandson, leaning towards her. “Why so, Cooper?”

She shrugs uncomfortably, playing with a blade of grass. “You know my sister? Polly?”

Jughead vaguely remembers a blonde girl who shared an uncanny resemblance to the girl in front of him. He indicates yes.

“She’s pregnant. With Jason Blossom's baby.”

Jughead's eyes widen. “Plot twist of the century.”

“And my parents sent her away, ashamed of the reputation she would have tarnished once news went around. And they focused on me, instead.” Betty sighs, ghosts of the present glistening in her eyes. “My mom even put me on performance enhancing drugs. I refused to take them, of course, and she only got more overbearing and helicopter-like... I'm always juggling a thousand things at once, just because my  _ mom _ thinks I can handle everything. I'm expected to be a socialite, but at the same time, get straight As, and then simultaneously be fit so I look my best, and it's too much.”

“Is that why...” Jughead tilts his head in sympathy. “Is that why you're here?”

Betty nods. “My mom thinks I'm packing up after a bake sale in Josie McCoy's house.”

“For what it's worth, Betty, I'm sorry you have to deal with that.”

Betty looks at him with appreciation. “I'm glad you think so, Jughead Jones.” 

Jughead smiles, turning forward. He's getting tired of craning his neck upwards to observe the constellations that dot the night sky, so he unfolds his legs and resumes the position he was in before Betty Cooper tripped on him. His wavy hair splays on the ground beneath him. “We can star-gaze better this way,” He says, wincing for the sake of her white dress that would probably be ruined as she lies down next to him.

“You know, Jones, I usually don't open up about my deep troubles to strangers.” Betty says, blinking at the speckled scene miles away above.

“Hey, I thought we were at least acquaintances,” Jughead protests. 

Betty turns to him and grins. “Friends.” She offers, and Jughead is okay with that.

They lie there in companionable silence for around ten minutes, tracing out the different constellations in the sky. The sunflowers around them have been frozen in time- their lord is not here to guide them, so they now face east, eagerly awaiting their master's rebirth the next morning.

“Jughead,” Betty interrupts their shared quietude, to which, Jughead hums in reply. “I want to know who you are. What you love. What you hate. What makes you tick.”

Jughead sits up, leaning on his elbows, and shifts only to brush away a few strands of hair from his face. “Planning to write a biography, Betty Cooper? I’m flattered.”   
Betty breaks into a grin. “You doofus. We’re friends, and all I know about you is that you have an affinity for plaid and suspenders. Even leather jackets. Not that anyone’s complaining. And, that you want to be an author.” Her eyes follow his hands as he swipes his hands through his hair again.

“Alright, I’ll indulge you,” He says, lying back down again. “I’m the third of my kind-”

“My kind?”

“The wonderful Forsythe Jones clan, is what I’m referring to.” He smiles fondly at her giggle. “Never would’ve pegged me as a Forsythe, hm?”

Betty shakes her head. “I always pegged you as a Jughead. But, go on,” She prompts.

“I have a sister, she's Jellybean, and I love her.” He says, shyly and albeit a little uncomfortably. But he goes on. “After she left, I actually don't have much of a reason to stay in Riverdale.”

Betty turns towards him, sympathy in her eyes. “Where is she?”

Jughead shakes his head. “Far enough that going there without getting a door shut in my face is impossible.”

Betty's hand inches sideways and grasps his, and Jughead ignores the little flutter his heavy heart brings. She squeezes his palm and oh, look, his heart is flying away.

Jughead closes his eyes for a second, sighing deeply, and opens them when mellifluous tones break their shared quietude. Betty’s singing, a sweet lullaby with which their shared sunflower field overflows, and  _ Gosh, her voice is beautiful _ . Everything about her is.

Dulcet tones drift through the sunflower stalks, and Jughead lets his eyes drift shut again, eyelashes resting upon his cheeks, and he bathes himself in a sense of peace he doubt he'll ever find again.

Betty shifts next to him, and before he can open his eyes, he feels a pair of lips on his, a hand on his chest, a heartbeat thudding as fast as his is, and he relaxes into the sweet, sweet kiss, bringing his hand up and running it through his hair.

She tastes like cinnamon.

He loves cinnamon.

They break apart, and Jughead forgets how to breathe; he's so enraptured.

Betty smiles and lays down next to him, making sure their hands are intertwined.

_ Fuck, _ Jughead thinks, still flushed, and he pulls Betty closer.

Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones. Oddest pair in Riverdale. Jughead doesn't care, as Betty resumes her singing and he slowly drifts off.

 

* * *

An orange glow wakes him up.

He squints against the imposing sunlight, with blue jays cheeping from the tree line behind him. The ground is wet from morning dew, and the sunflower stalks have already begun their journey of degrees.

He's not a morning person, but he can't roll over without crushing innocent and undeserving flowers, and he can't return to a blissful slumber in this light, so he sits up. He's sore from sleeping on the ground without any sort of cushioning, and groans as he stretches his long, lanky limbs.

And then the events of last night catch up to him. 

Betty Cooper isn't by his side anymore. Her singing isn't permeating his surroundings, and he feels her absence more than ever.

_ Strange, _ he thinks. One night was all it had taken.

He didn't truly expect Betty to remain where he was. She had a family, friends, a life to get back to, and Jughead didn't know where he'd fit in. If he'd fit in.

But hey, they're both broken people seeking solace in one another.

It is at that moment when his eyes land on a glint of yellow on brown- it's a sunflower,  _ the _ sunflower, slightly crumpled and bent, but also attached to a small note with cursive handwriting.

_ Until next time _

_ -B _

There's  her number on the back.

Jughead smiles and takes the heaviest book out from his bag. He gingerly places the flowers in between its yellowed pages,where he will wait for it to dry so he can preserve it for as long as nature lets him.

That little flower will give him hope,  _ until next time. _

 

**Author's Note:**

> I would really, really, really appreciate reviews, guys :)  
> Thanks for reading, and have a great day!


End file.
